


Romance Ain't Dead

by MadManta



Category: Compilation of Final Fantasy VII
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Chronological, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Nudity, OTPtober, idiots to lovers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-03
Updated: 2020-10-07
Packaged: 2021-03-08 00:47:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 5,006
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26796835
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MadManta/pseuds/MadManta
Summary: A bunch of small ficlets for OTPtober! Done out of order and in my own time (aka this will 100% drag on longer than October). Prompts here: https://twitter.com/DigitalPopsicle/status/1301129650077405184
Relationships: Reno/Rude (Compilation of FFVII)
Comments: 13
Kudos: 43





	1. First Date

When Reno gets his third partner assignment, he’s used to pushing the envelope. There’s a reason the first two had gone crying to Veld after months of tolerating his wild-eyed enthusiasm, his crass jokes, and his elaborate cover-ups. He’s his own man and, personally, feels as though he works best on his own.

He recognizes his new partner. They were recruits together. Reno remembers how weird it is that a man that couldn’t have been more than 21 had a clean-shaved head. He also remembers the stupid sunglasses, like a thirteen-year-old wearing a trench coat to school to seem edgy. He barely spoke to him before, and now, after their first mission together, he’s still barely spoken.

The Turks have a locker room, separate from the SOLDIERs’ and from the usual Shinra grunts. It’s not _nice_ , but it’s big and always has enough hot water and industrial pumps of soap to scrub all the blood out of your fingernails and scalp.

Reno and his somber partner had silently returned to HQ; Reno had gone straight to the showers. He’d taken the brunt of the blood spray. He hadn’t even caused it: he’s still thinking about Rude’s fist in the guy’s back, the crunch of gods know what, the horrific splatter from his mouth in Reno’s direction.

_“Fuck, dude! You’re fillin’ out the report on this one for that! Ifrit’s dick, that’s gross as shit!”_

Rude had agreed, and so when Reno stalked into the locker room, Rude had stopped instead into their offices to write up what had (successfully) occurred.

Reno gargles shower water and spits. The water is running clean under his feet, so he turns it off. It’s the middle of the night, so when the locker room doors creak open, he knows it’s Rude. He smirks to himself, prepared to push his buttons. He picks up his towel, scrubbing it through his hair as he steps brazenly toward where Rude is pulling off his tie by the actual lockers.

Reno is unbothered by his nudity, brandishing it like a weapon. “Hope that sucker punch was worth doin’ the paperwork,” Reno says snidely. Rude, who’s still in his sunglasses, gazes at him.

Too late, Reno realizes that with the sunglasses, he has no idea where Rude’s eyes are. And Rude, that brick wall, doesn’t even look affected. Like a dick in his face is the same as doing a crossword. Reno’s mouth snaps shut. Suddenly, he’s thrown off balance.

“I don’t mind paperwork,” Rude says with a shrug, and then turns away from him as he whips that tie out of his collar.

Reno’s wrapping his towel around his waist a moment later. “Great, so I guess I’ll be washing more blood out of my shirts then?” He moves away from Rude, into another row where his actual locker is.

“Pretty sure that’s the whole job description,” Rude rumbles, and then says nothing else.

The next mission, there’s more horror: more blood, more teeth. Skinned knuckles and the smell of cooked flesh from electric damage. Rude is the one who’s gotten the worst of it _on_ him. His white shirt looks orange brown as the pair ride the Shinra elevators down into the basement.

“Guess that means I’m doin’ the report, huh?” Reno jokes.

Rude just grunts. His fingers are curled a little tighter in those gloves that don’t seem very comfortable. They’re only a few weeks old, and seem too tight for his broad hands. Reno just clears his throat, mildly uncomfortable, and heads into the office when Rude heads to the locker rooms.

Rude is efficient. Sometimes, Reno thinks he’s ruthless. It’s a bizarre contrast, one that makes him think Rude could be a secret psychopath. Then again, Reno remembers the discomfort of being coated in someone else’s viscera. Maybe, he thinks, he’ll take him out for drinks after this.

Reno scrambles to finish the report and then heads to the locker rooms where he can see Rude just turning the water off. His bronzed skin looks washed out in the fluorescent lights, and Reno tries not to stare. He heads to the benches and sits down, waiting for Rude to approach him.

This time, Rude is holding the towel, but not wrapping it around himself. Reno would laugh about the entire concept of ‘Turnabout is fair play!’ except that all he can see is Rude’s enormous, uncut cock swinging in the breeze, and Reno doesn’t have the protection of sunglasses.

Reno’s mouth works. He came here for a very specific reason, so he blurts it out all at once: “Let’s get drinks!”

Rude stares at him, and his lips curl into a smirk.

Reno’s face goes bright red and he launches himself off the bench, turning away. “Fuck! I meant because you just beat a guy’s brains in not because—” Reno gestures at him, one hand over his eyes. “Put on a towel, for fuck’s sake!”

“Turnabout is fair play,” Rude rumbles, and wraps the towel around his waist.

“What a dick,” Reno hisses.

“That’s what she said,” Rude replies, and Reno swears, again.

“That’s _not what I meant_!”


	2. Flirting

Reno is starting to figure his partner out. He thinks.

He’s _quiet_ , but it doesn’t mean he’s closed off. After their first few icy missions together, they had fallen into a much more easy rhythm. Reno can tell his voice still grates on him (which is no fault of Reno’s own — not everyone gets to have a set of rich baritone vocal chords, thank you very much), but Rude was letting himself laugh more at Reno’s jokes. Or possibly at Reno’s expense. Either way, he takes it as a win.

Reno had a certain _look_ and he liked to take advantage of it. Flirting between Reno and anyone else tended to involve a lot of over the top innuendo, sticking his tongue out, and making a lot of obnoxious kissy noises that always flustered them.

Kissy noises didn’t work on Rude. When he’d tried that, he’d gotten hit upside the head with a flat slap. “Don’t call at me like I’m an animal,” Rude grumbled. Reno had made fun of him afterward when he realized that meant Big Bad Rude frequently made kissy noises at stray dogs, cats, and at one point, pigeons.

Over the top innuendo didn’t work with him either. He’d suck on his teeth and say, “Nah. Gross.” However, going a little easier on word choices had led to long battles of who could out-euphemism the other. (Reno always won, because the second he had a particularly good one, Rude would completely break, just _lose it_ laughing and Reno felt so excited and proud because of it.)

Sticking his tongue out only ever got a middle finger in return. Which was not successful flirting, but still always worth it.

No, for real flirting, Reno had to think outside the box with this one — which was good, considering actually flirting with a coworker wasn’t really in his best interests. So real flirting didn’t ever really happen, until it does.

Rude is stitching Reno up. It’s Rude’s apartment, dim and warm but unfamiliar. Their mission went tits up and Reno ended up getting the brunt of the damage. Rude is cursing to himself as he finishes the last suture, the last alcohol wipe, the last bandage. Reno’s got a bottle of expensive vodka in his hand and he’s chugging it. Rude gave it to him, so he can’t be too mad. Reno pushes himself off of the stool and hobbles over to the couch where he flops down, still shirtless.

Rude cleans up the first aid kit, and Reno watches him in the soft light. “Quit beatin’ yourself up,” Reno says.

Rude doesn’t reply, he just continues to frown.

“Rude,” Reno says. The name tastes serious in his mouth. He holds out the vodka. “C’mere.”

Rude stares at him, a fitfully guilty expression on his face. Then he makes his way over to his couch — a ratty old thing that really was the world’s ugliest floral fabric, but that he’d wrapped in a cheap black couch cover — and sits down on the opposite end. He takes the bottle and takes three long, sickening drinks.

“If we’re gonna drink it like this,” he says, managing not to gag. “I’ve gotta buy cheaper booze.”

“Why the hell do you got top shelf, anyway? Your place barely looks better than the shitty Shinra apartments. That you _could_ be getting for free.”

“Don’t wanna live at HQ,” Rude says. “And normally I don’t wanna drink trash.”

Reno looks at him and observes. Rude looks young like this. He’d taken his sunglasses off, and so Reno can see him, clean shaven face, soft eyes, one stud in each earlobe. There’s a tightness in his gaze. He passes the bottle back to Reno. “Sorry,” he says, “you’re the one who needs it.”

Reno shrugs and only takes two more long drinks. His guts feel warm, and the sharp pain in his back has dulled to an ignorable thud. He screws the cap back on and sticks the bottle on the floor. Rude needs a coffee table. Not that Reno can judge; his place looks like a damn dormitory.

Reno looks back at him. Rude still looks tense. Reno reaches out, his fingerless-gloved hand touching the back of Rude’s bare one. “Hey,” Reno says. “I’m okay.”

Rude lets out along, shuddery breath. “You sure?”

Reno’s mouth turns up in a sad kind of smile. “Yeah, partner, you not only avenged me by breakin’ that guy in half, but you healed me up real good.”

“If I’d have been paying _attention_ , I wouldn’t have had—”

“Hey,” Reno says, and squeezes Rude’s hand again. “Shut the hell up. I’m fine. And so are you.”

Rude’s gaze slowly moves down to where Reno is touching his hand. He nods. “Yeah,” he agrees. His eyes shut. “You’re right.”

“Damn right,” Reno says with a smirk of finality. “Can I crash on your couch?”

Rude pushes himself up off of it. “Yeah. Just this once,” he says, and gets a pillow and a blanket.

Later, in the middle of the night when Reno is hugging the pillow to his chest, he thinks about how he had finally managed to crack that stoic exterior. Reno’s found his way to flirt with Rude in a way that leaves them both a little shaky and uncertain. Reassuring touch that’s theirs and theirs alone. He holds onto that knowledge and tries not to think about how lumpy the couch is, or how much he wants to live in a place like this.


	3. Hanging Out

Rude’s shoulders hurt.

They’d taken his clunky brick of a PHS, his jacket, his shoes, his gloves and materia. His normally crisp, white shirt was torn and stained with anxious sweat and blood. They’d tied him to some medieval looking pole in the middle of …somewhere, his hands stretched far above his head and hanging off of an angry hook sticking out of the pole.

His breaths are weak, but calm. He’s been here for hours. They’ve gotta be looking for him. He’s pretty sure Veld likes him.

 _Pretty_ sure.

He just keeps running the scenario over in his head: the cultists splitting up in the warehouse. Reno left, Rude right. A gun shot, and then, here. He doesn’t have to see the bruise on his body to know they’d tranquilized him. He’s never been more mad about not being equipped for that.

He has no idea if he’s in the same building, or if they carted him half way across the planet. He doesn’t know how long he was asleep. All he knows is the thin shaft of light coming down from above, the ache in his shoulders, the foreboding feeling.

He stares forward, amused that now, in this utter darkness, would be when it would have been nice to take his sunglasses off. They’d left him on him, too. His neck hurt too much to jerk it around to shake them free.

There’s a rumble of something he doesn’t recognize: a footstep that shakes the walls, or a reverberating supernatural growl, or an army marching in unison. That’s when he realizes just why he’s here.

They’re _sacrificing him_.

He spits and only barely hears it hit the stone below him. He’s up higher than he realized. “Gotta be fuckin’ kidding me,” he muttered. Another rumble, and he’s sure it’s a growl. There’s a new sound, like dragging. Something big is moving.

He’s been here for hours, fading in and out of a meditative state, but this new discovery is activating his lizard brain. He’s panicking. Every furious shift and twist is jolting his shoulders further, getting close to the possibility of just dislocating them. But he doesn’t care. Whatever sacrificing means — and he _hopes_ it’s “feed the big dumb monster” and not “fuck the big dumb monster” — it’s going to be worse than dislocating a shoulder or spraining an ankle if he can just unhook his _damn wrists_.

He can hear heavy panting which makes him more nervous, until he realizes that’s his own body dissociating. That’s his furious gasps for air.

Another rumble, and then a new sound, the tang of electricity zipping through the air. Rude holds his breath so that he can listen for more, and he’s rewarded with the scuffling of feet and, the sweetest sound of all.

“Eat shit ya big ugly fuckhead!”

His voice is just distant enough to know they’re outside whatever kind of room this is. It makes him nervous more than anything else. He can’t see Reno _or_ help him. “Reno,” he says, and his voice is a rasp that’s lost to darkness.

More noises: metal thunking on flesh, explosive bursts of mass slamming against rock. Crumbling, and then full on collapse of the wall near him, as the bloody visage of Reno and a Bagnadrana that’s seen better days appears. Reno rolls off to the side, attempting to gain his bearings, and then their eyes lock.

“ _Rude!_ ” Reno shouts, and looks like he’s torn between throwing himself in his direction and instead taking care of the monster. “Just—just _hang on!_ ”

Rude stares blankly at him as Reno says these words, and then starts laughing weakly. That little fucker. That absolute shit heel. _Hang on?_

Reno doesn’t notice what he’s done, and instead freezes the slimy faux-dragon of a beast before electrocuting it to death. He had found it when the cultists freed it into the catacombs under the warehouse. He’d been wandering for hours trying to find out had happened to fucking _Rude_.

Reno runs up to the huge pole and frowns as he circles it, and then makes a sound of discovery from behind Rude. Moments later Rude feels Reno’s arms reaching from around the pole, only barely able to reach. “I’m gonna cut you free, partner, but you’re gonna drop.”

Rude’s voice is tight, jaw clenched, but somehow still amused. “Took your sweet time.”

“Sorry, they didn’t offer me a damn tour guide,” Reno grunts, and then he’s cut the leather straps holding the cuffs together. Rude drops, too woozy and off balance to properly catch himself. There, he thinks, is that sprained ankle.

Reno scurries down the ladder and to the front of the pole. He kneels down in front of Rude, pulling his sunglasses off. Without them he can see the room is much lighter now than he’d thought. Reno looks exhausted, but otherwise in good condition. Rude feels relief flood his chest.

“Ifrit’s balls, you had me worried,” Reno said, feeling him out.

“Wouldn’t have a potion on you, would you?” Rude huffs.

“Right!” Reno says, and digs in his jacket. It’s too big for him, the baggy blue jacket hanging off of his slim form, but he always has crap tucked away. Normally it’s cigarettes or a flask or a bomb, but occasionally it’s candy. Or an X Potion. Rude reaches for it, and then hisses in pain. He can barely move his arms. He looks _furious_ about this.

“Ahh, fuck. How long did they have you hanging there?” Reno asks, and unscrews the bottlecap of the X Potion without asking.

“Long enough for your ‘hang on’ comment to piss me off,” Rude admits.

Reno stares at him for a moment too long, and then he makes a genuine chuckle. “My bad,” he says. “Open up.” Reno pours the potion slowly into Rude’s mouth. They’re quiet, Reno’s eyes following the bob of Rude’s adam’s apple at every long swig.

Reno tosses aside the empty bottle and waits. Rude feels the joints repair, but still the soreness lingers. His throat at least feels a bit of relief from how dry he’d felt. He lets out a long, thin breath, and then looks up at Reno. “Thank you,” he says.

Reno nods, twisting his head away. “I ain’t leavin’ my partner in a weird old building with people who probably wanted a monster to fuck him.”

Rude shivers. “I _knew_ it was a ‘fuck the monster’ sacrifice.”

Reno stands up, his laugh the usual snide one, and reaches down to help pull Rude to his feet. “C’mon. Let’s burn this place out and get the hell out of here.”


	4. Holding Hands

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Time to dress up.

Reno hates asking for help. It doesn’t matter what it’s about: he grew up fending for himself, and he likes it that way. Occasionally when he struggles, Rude will help him without asking. Reno chooses not to think about the time Rude literally pulled a jar out of his hands and forced it open for him. For most things, there’s a workaround, so it’s not like he couldn’t have gotten the jar open with a running tap and some patience. He lets that kind of stuff roll off his back.

Tonight, though, Reno is so completely out of his element, he doesn’t have a choice. When Rude shows up to his little Shinra apartment, his slightly wrinkled white shirt is buttoned almost to the top. He’s got a loose bow tie hanging around his collar, and his sleeves are flapping in the breeze.

Rude, on the other hand, looks like a million bucks in the tuxedo: perfectly ironed shirt, a perfectly level bow-tie, perfectly creased pocket square. Bastard. “You ready to go?”

Reno glares at him while he fiddles at his wrists. “Do I look ready to go, dickhead?”

Rude sucks on his teeth at him but doesn’t say anything. He shuts the door behind him, glancing around. He’s a few minutes early, and Reno wonders if he came by early on purpose. Like he knew that Reno wouldn’t be ready.

“It’s not my fuckin’ fault I don’t know how fuckin’ cufflinks work, yo,” Reno grumbles. He stares over at Rude, who’s leaning against his door like he’s actually impatient. He doesn’t move, or say a word, and Reno is getting desperate. “Rude,” he says, and honest to God, feels his cheeks color. “Help me?”

Rude’s strong, bare jaw twitches. He’s stopping himself from smirking at Reno, and Reno tries not to hate him for it. But only after a few seconds of delay, Rude is pushing away from the door and stepping up into Reno’s personal space. “You need help with the tie, too?” he asks.

Reno tries not to pout as he looks away. “I was gonna look it up on BluguTube, I can do the tie, but.”

Rude’s sunglasses are opaque, but Reno can see the way his eyebrows shift and he knows Rude is rolling his eyes. “Give me your hands.”

Reno raises them both with a huff. Rude just takes his right hand and pulls at the cuff until it’s the right length. Both cufflinks are hanging haphazardly out of the holes, as if Reno just didn’t have the first clue about how to hook them in. Reno wants to comment on Rude still wearing his gloves in a fancy tux, but he finds it very hard to talk as he watches Rude lightly caress his wrist. Reno watches the cufflink go through and back the material, but he has no idea what Rude is doing. All he can do is hold his breath so that Rude won’t hear him hyperventilating.

“One,” Rude teases, and takes his other hand.

Reno is going to run out of air.

Instead he just lets it out in one thin stream, and it’s so awkward it turns into a self conscious chuckle. “Jeez, you gonna tie my shoes after this too?”

Rude doesn’t look up from their hands. “Is that why you wear buckles on your work shoes?”

Reno is flustered. How the hell is this asshole _flustering_ him? Reno is the cock of the walk, dammit. “Sh-shut up,” he says. Cool, great comeback.

Rude finishes the other cufflink, and suddenly he’s even closer as he pulls on the sides of Reno’s shirt. “Hopefully the suit jacket is at least ironed,” he mutters as he deftly does up Reno’s buttons.

Reno is trying very hard to not be outraged that Rude is just choosing to dress him. He’s also trying to figure out why he likes it so much. “I never even took it out of the bag,” he admits. “So… hopefully?”

Rude chuckles, and then he’s standing right in front of him, chest to chest, his fingers curling into the silk tie. He makes a contemplative sound after moving his fingers around a few ways, and then sighs with a shake of his head. He lets go of Reno and takes a step back. “You got a mirror?”

Reno can’t even make fun of him for asking the question. The second he steps away it seems like he’s knocked out of a reverie, like he’s been gut punched. He blinks. “Oh! Uh. Yeah. Bathroom.” The two walk into Reno’s tight bathroom, and Reno tries not to look too surprised when Rude presses up behind him. “Eh…?”

Rude’s arms come around him, settling over his shoulders so that he can reach the tie. “That’s better,” Rude says, and his breath is in Reno’s ear.

Reno uses all the Turk power he’s gained over the past years to keep himself from shaking like a damn leaf.

With his hands like this, it seems as though Rude gives in to muscle memory. The bowtie is smoothly and quickly tied. After that, Rude steps away from him and into Reno’s bedroom.

Reno stares at himself in the mirror and wishes he could splash himself in cold water, but Rude would probably yell at him for getting water on the shirt and tie. He comes back out into the living room, and Rude out of the bedroom holding his suit jacket.

“Arms,” Rude says, and Reno lifts one arm, then the other, into the sleeves of the jacket. Thankfully, after he’s got the jacket on, Rude steps completely away from him instead of buttoning it closed low on his waist. Though the idea suddenly sounds very good to Reno.

Rude, by his front door, tilts his head at him. “You clean up real nice, partner,” he teases, and then opens the door. “But if we’re late for the Shinra kid’s birthday, we’ll never hear the end of it.”

Reno laughs it off and joins him, his mind full of the thought of holding Rude’s hand.


	5. Cuddling

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rude gets a girlfriend. For a little while.

Reno wants to be much more drunk than he is, but somehow, he’s ended up as Rude’s babysitter. It wouldn’t be so bad, except for how utterly excited Rude is like this. He’s practically exuberant. He even told a dirty joke to the other Turks and laughed like a damn old man.

And it’s because Rude has a _girlfriend_.

Reno hates her. Reno doesn’t really know anything about her, other than how Rude seems to have loosened up. Like he hasn’t had a real date in months. Years.

When Reno thinks about that, it’s probably true. Who knew, Reno thinks bitterly, all Rude needed to chill out was to get his dick wet. It makes something dark and angry twist in his belly. It seems too good to be true, especially because _Chelsea_ just came out of nowhere. Let Rude sweep her off her feet.

Reno shouldn’t be mad. He’s fucked around plenty. But it annoys some primitive part of him to see Rude so happy because of someone else. And it annoys the logical part of him to see Rude so _sloppy_.

Which means Reno is sitting in a booth, nursing the same warm beer he’s had for an hour, watching Rude flit from Turk to Turk and laugh. Then, finally, Rude lands on the bench next to Reno. “Fuck, it’s hot,” Rude says.

Reno sighs. “You’re still in your jacket, dumbass,” he says, and the words are light. There’s nothing mean in them. Rude laughs and shrugs out of the suit jacket, and then simply slides over until his head is resting on Reno’s shoulder.

“How come you’re not drinkin’ with me?” Rude slurs.

Reno rarely gets this close to Rude outside of medical emergencies. His heart pounds in his chest, not that Rude’s drunk ass would notice. “You are unbelievably sloshed, Rude,” Reno says. “Like, I have never seen you this drunk. I gotta get your ass home.”

“Nahhh,” Rude says, in such a brazen way that Reno finally breaks and laughs. Sober Rude would hate to see himself like this, which _does_ make it cosmically funny. “I’ve gotten you home drunk, I can do it too!”

“Partner,” Reno says, mouth tipping up. “That just ain’t how it works.”

Rude throws his arm around Reno’s waist. “Sounds like bullshit to me.”

Reno has two options: absolutely flail, shove Rude off of him and tell him to _stop groping your partner, bro_ , or to let this happen. Rude is sweaty and smells like booze and Reno _still_ wants to let this happen.

Reno is so, so stupid. “How ‘bout this,” he says, trying to gather his wits. “Let me take you home, and then we’ll drink together there, right?”

Rude pushes himself up, and his bleary eyes are visible above the shades. “Y’mean it?”

“Yeah, bro, now get the hell off me,” Reno laughs, and Rude does as he asks.

By the time Reno gets Rude home, Rude is exhausted. He’s barely standing up. Reno gets him into his bedroom and forces him to drink water, and then leaves him some ibuprofen and the trash can by his bed. He leaves the apartment, feeling glad he was able to take care of Rude, like he’d intended.

He just hates that it hurts so much.

* * *

Rude is drunk again. Only it’s weeks later, and it’s not the joyful drunk. It’s “lock himself in his apartment” drunk. It’s “crawl into the bottle and never come out” drunk. Reno will never say _I told you so!_ about how ‘Chelsea’ was too good to be true. He mostly channels that feeling into how he’d like to do something unspeakable to the shitty little spy. He won’t do that, either. But a man can dream.

Reno bangs on Rude’s door. It takes four angry attempts and some shouting, but finally Reno hears the deadbolt clink and the door pull open. Rude’s there: no sunglasses, red eyes, heavy stubble, white t-shirt, sweats. “Lemme in,” Reno says, and Rude doesn’t have a chance to say no before Reno nearly bowls him over. “I brought you Costa Fried Chocobo and slaw. C’mon.”

The apartment smells like stale sweat and sadness. There’s a lot of beer cans and three half-empty bottles on his coffee table. There’s pillows on the couch.

“What’re you doin’ here?” Rude mutters.

“I’m not gonna let you spend any more time alone, moping,” Reno says. “Come eat something that isn’t a corn by-product for fuck’s sake.”

Rude slumps down at the kitchen table and eats. He eats more than Reno expects, honestly, which is kind of a nice surprise. Reno tells him about his Christmas plans. Rude doesn’t even pretend to respond.

Afterwards, Reno is the one cleaning up. He shoves the to-go containers and a bunch of cans into a trash bag. “How do you feel?”

Rude ends up back on his terrible covered couch. “Like shit.”

“Too much drinkin’ will do that to you, yo.”

“Not enough drinking,” Rude mutters, and pops open the whiskey.

“Rude…”

Rude looks up at him, and he looks terribly sad. “At least—at least lament with me.”

Reno stares at him for a long moment, and then drops the bag on the floor. “Why do you need that?”

“I’ve just been—doing this to myself,” Rude says, a little too honest. “No one else has been around to tell me that I was wronged. I’ve heard plenty about how fuckin’ dumb I was—”

Reno’s next to him a moment later, grabbing the bottle. “You’re not dumb,” he says firmly. “I’d say you aren’t jaded enough, but that ain’t fair. None of this is your fault.” That doesn’t feel honest, but he doesn’t care. “You want me to drink with you and call her a bitch?”

Rude stares at him and, slowly, his mouth curls up. Just a little. “Maybe?”

Reno doesn’t have any choice. If there’s anything on this soul-sucking planet that will make Rude feel better, Reno’s gonna do it. He tips the whiskey bottle up and takes three long, burning swigs. “Talkin’ shit’s my mondus operagnum, partner.”

Rude takes the bottle from him. “Modus operandi.”

“Whatever, smart-ass!” Reno crows, and throws an arm around Rude. “First of all, you should not be datin’ any more fives. You’re a total ten, bro, and that chick? Barely a five. Barely.”

Later, Reno won’t remember what they talked about, or what made Rude laugh so hard that he fell into him, or how many crude things Reno said. But the feeling of falling asleep on that ratty old couch with Rude pulled up into his arms, his nose buried in the back of Rude’s neck. That memory sticks like a sliver.


End file.
